Merry Christmas, Will
by Pyreflies Painter
Summary: 'I wish you loved me. I wish that more than anything in this world...'   Contains Clockwork Prince spoilers. One-Shot.


**A/N: It's officially Christmas here in Australia! YAY! Well, at least while I'm making this author's note. Anyways, this is for you! Christmas special! If it's terrible, please do tell me. I'd like to know what I need to work on. **

**Also, this might not turn out how you'd like it or expect it.**

**P.S. This has Clockwork Prince spoilers. BEWARE!**

**Disclaimer: I am not Cassandra Clare. I am not Charles Dickens who I briefly quote here. **

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><p>-Merry Christmas, Will-<p>

The soft, hollow thudding sound of his boots as they hit the carpet reverberated throughout the Institute. He found it a rather comforting sound among the silence (even Bridget uncharacteristically stopped her dreadful singing that night). It meant life in otherwise empty corridors. Something in the middle of nothing.

Outside, it was dark and he had just finished dinner- he's finished another dinner of sitting there and not trying to twist in _pain_. He thought of where to go and for the past ten minutes he spent his time wandering around the Institute like a lost ghost. He didn't even remotely care of whether or not someone was overhearing his constant and silent footfalls. At least they didn't bother him and told him to stop wandering the Institute hallways like a mad man. At least they left him to his own thoughts. Perhaps that is what he wanted. Peace. No, not exactly peace. Solitude. William Herondale wanted to be alone.

It has been two months since Cecily arrived. Since then, he spent most of his time training her- even if he didn't want her to become a Shadowhunter -and avoiding Jem and Tessa and their conversations about their wedding.

_Their wedding_, the very words were like a knife twisting into his chest mercilessly. He could feel something rise up in his throat. A gasp of agony. He let it out- he could not keep it down anymore -and immediately scanned his surroundings after. All he could see were the soft glow of the witchlight stuck to the walls, Christmas wreaths hanging from them. There was no one in sight. He sighed internally out of relief.

Once again, he found himself wandering lonely corridors, meeting no one in the way. He could only guess that everyone has retreated to their nighttime activities. He supposed he could go to his room and get some sleep, but he still had nightmares. Nightmares that told him to destroy Jem's happiness. To be selfish. It kept trying to poison his honour and his sense of brotherhood towards his _parabatai_. He had thought that by that day he found out that he actually didn't have a curse, that all his nightmares would stop. And yet, life is unpredictable. He'll start walking down an easy road and all of a sudden obstacles would throw themselves at him and he'd have to haul himself out. Painfully. Once he finishes, he'd be given something to heal himself but it seems pointless for the torture will start all over again. He will always be broken no matter how many times someone will renew him. Sometimes, he just wonders when it will all _stop_.

He looked up and in the distance he found a familiar set of doors, cracked open and letting a slice of warm light flooding into the hallway. It was a place he went to more often than he thought. It was a place that meant much to him and to another girl. It was a place filled with words. Inspiring, worthwhile, valuable, _honest_ words and phrases and sentences and paragraphs and verses. A place where you could quench your thirst for knowledge and truth. Where you could seek refuge from a dreadful reality. Where you could travel to far and exotic lands. Where you could see the colours of another world. Where you could hear the sounds of life. Where you could taste the flavours of existence. Where you could _feel_ the emotions, the _passions_, that makes man worthy of being _alive_. It was a sanctuary.

It was the_ library_.

Will let himself slip through the doors and he beheld the sight before him. It was a monstrous beauty. He let himself marvel at the thousands and thousands of books his eyes could see. Books. They provided him solace. And here he was again. It was as if he were asking them for help. To let them take him somewhere where no one could follow him. Where he could show them what he really was. Books. They were his companions.

He took a step at the same time he realised he wasn't quite alone.

There, sitting on a window alcove, was Tessa. She had leaned against the wall, her eyes closed and a book open in her hands. The warm firelight from the hearth softened her face which had an expression Will couldn't exactly put his finger on. It wasn't agony yet it wasn't sorrow. Perhaps troubled? Nevertheless, he found himself pulled towards her again. Finally, he had reached her side and just _looking _at her caused him distress.

It wasn't distress because of his own pains. It was hers. That expression that lingered on her lovely face hurt him as much as it hurt her. He wanted to comfort her. To pull her towards him and to protect her from the dark. From the people who were trying to harm her. People who were taking advantage of the things she could do. He'd let himself burn time and time again, get wounded by a thousand automatons, even _die_ if her life was at stake. And he'd do it because he loved her. Loved her more than anyone else in this world.

_But_, he thought with heartache as he sat next to her and as he let his head lean against the window, his eyes never leaving her face, warmed by the dull golden glow of the fire. 'You don't love me, do you Tess?' The words flew out of his mouth, uncontrollable. He scoffed at himself, but otherwise continued. '_And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire_. It's one of your favourites. _A Tale of Two Cities_ and look at that-' he pointed to the book she held as he read a sentence and instantly remembered, '-_A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens.' Will laughed darkly and he could sense the anguish in it. Here he was, having a conversation with an otherwise sleeping woman that he has given up so much for. It was pathetic.

But how, did he manage to continue? 'I could make you happy. I'm sure of it,' he was. 'I'd love you with all my heart and soul and mind and being. I'd give up everything and I'd do anything, just to be able to make you smile and laugh and hold your hand. I'd take you to Wales. You'll love it there. You'll like the adventure and, trust me, you'd never seen anything like it. It's so _green_,' Will suddenly grinned, but this time he meant it. 'Of course all the townfolks would spend their time singing those silly songs, but they are quite good. We could dance to them around the fire. And if you don't like Wales, then I'd take you where ever you want to go. We could go back to New York.'

He paused before continuing. 'I wish you loved me. I wish that _more than anything_ in the world,' he could hear his voice crack. He cleared his throat and continued without much difference. 'My-my entire body aches at the thought of what could've been. Then, the words I wish you'd tell me haunts me. But,' he turned his grin towards her which had turned desperate and so _broken_, 'those words aren't exactly horrifying.'

'However,' he tried swallowing back the anguish, 'I can't bear the thought of taking away something you want. You love Jem and Jem loves you back with his entire being. I-I can't risk both of your happiness for mine,' Will tried convincing himself as he spoke the words. 'I love you both. Jem has been the brother I've never had. You, you've given me a _reason_. I-I suppose the last thing I would want is to see the people that are most important to me, be happy. Even if it hurts,' he whispered the very last word, his eyes turning towards his hands. Then, at the edge of his vision, he saw movement. His eyes snapped to hers and for a moment, he thought she was awake.

But no, she just shivered.

Will got off the window alcove in search for something to warm her. There was a woollen blanket draped over a chair and he made his way to it. After picking it up, he made his way back to Tessa and placed it over her. She smiled and he felt something rise in him. Of course, it was _love_. 'Tess...' his hand made its way to her cheek, to caress it. But he pulled it back, telling himself to do the right thing.

'Merry Christmas, Tess,' he gave her a sad smile as he stepped back- _painfully_ -and turned and showed himself out.

Then, there was a voice. So soft, so quiet, amidst the sound of his own ragged breathing and the slamming in his chest. Yet, it was a voice he'd always know and he'd always hear in his mind. Speaking as if a guide- no, not a guide. A guardian angel that shines light and gives him his reason to live.

'Merry Christmas, Will.'


End file.
